^ 


MAYHEW 
Make  Your  Wills 


PR 
4989 

M47M3I 


THE     MINOR     DRAMA 

THE    ACTING    EDITION. 
No.   CXXIV. 


MAKE  YOUR  WILLS! 

A  FARCE,  IN  ONE  ACT. 

BY  E.  MAYHEW  AND  G.  SMITH. 


TO  WHICH    ABE    ADDED 

A  Description  of  the  Costume— Cast  of  the  Characters—Entrances  and  Exlt»— 

Relative  Positions  of  the  Performers  on  the  Stage,  an<? 

the  whole  of  Stage  Business. 


A3   PERFORMED    AT    TIIE    PRINCIPAL 

ENGLISH  AND  AMERICAN  THEATRES. 


NEW-YORK: 
SAMUEL      FRENCH, 

122  Nassau  Street,  (Up  Stairs.) 


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LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  UK  <   UIFORI 
SAM  A  ttARliARA 


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MAKE  YOUR  WILLS. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I. — A  Room  in  Mr.  Jreton's  House — a  window, 
I.,  v.  e. — a  door,  l.  s.  k. — a  table  and  chairs. 

Mr.  Ireton  and  his  Housekeeper  heard  disputing  without. 

Enter  Mr.  Ireton  and  Mrs.  Foreright,  r. 

Ire.  Woman  !  if  I  were  as  cold  and  as  brazen  as  the  bon- 
fire on  the  top  of  the  Monument,  the  eternal  friction  of 
your  insolence  would  ignite  me.  In  the  name  of  peace, 
hold  your  tongue — be  dumb  ! 

Mrs.  F.  I  won't — 1  can't  I  If  I  don't  speak,  I  shall 
go  mad  ! 

Ire.  And  if  you  continue  much  longer,  you'll  drive  me 
mad,  to  a  certainty. 

Mrs.  F.  Mad  ! — The  powers  in  mercy  send  I  may ;  for 
nothing  short  of  downright,  stark-staring  insanity  can  ex- 
cuse such  wickedness.  Heaven  has  blessed  vou  with  a 
child 

Ire.  'Tis  false  ! — The  devil  has  cursed  me  with  an  imp  1 
Heaven  sends  only  good  things,  and  he — — 

Mrs.  F.  You  wicked  old  man  1  with  one  leg  in  the 
grave,  and  the  other  of  no  use  upon  earth,  to  go  to 

Ire.  Hold  your  tongue  I 

Mrs.  F.  I  won't,  if  I  die  for  it!  Speech  is  the  noblest 
attribute  of  woman.     Isn't  he  your  son  ? 

Ire.  And  haven't  I  a  right  to  do  as  I  please  with  my  own  ? 

Mrs.  F.  No,  no,  no — no  more  than  I  have.  I  should 
like  to  tear  your  eyes  out  with  my  own  hands,  but  we 
mustn't  use  our  own,  when  it  is  to  another's  injury. 

Ire.  Indeed  ! — Now,  once  for  all,  Charles  Ireton,  my 
son — a  young  reprobate  1 — has  chosen  to  marry  without 
my  leave,  and,  in  return,  I  don't  choose  to  make  him  my 
heir,  but  shall  adopt  his  cousin,  Septimus  Plotter,  now  at 
college,  in  his  stead. 


10  MAKE  YOUR  WILLS.  [ACT  I. 

Mrs.  F.  Then  mark  my  words,  and  take  warning. 

Ire.  You'll  take  warning  first,  and  quit  this  house. 

Mrs.  F.  (c.)  What ! 

Ire.  (l.  c.)  From  this  moment  you  cease  to  be  my 
housekeeper ;  as  you  don't  know  your  station,  you'll  quit 
your  place! 

Mrs.  F.  Very  well,  sir  ;  but  I  shan't  be  quite  so  easily 
got  rid  of :  thirty  years'  undisturbed  possession  is  a  very 
good  title  to  stand  upon,  and  I  shan't  quietly  forego  my 
right  to  your  protection. 

Ire.  What  !  stay,  whether  I  will  or  no  ? 

Mrs.  F.  Answer  me  this :  haven't  I  been  in  your  em- 
ploy thirty  good  years  ? 

Ire.  And  answer  me  this :  haven't  you  closed  each  year 
with  the  receipt  of  thirty  good  guineas  ? 

Mrs.  F.  And  now  you  are  going  to  turn  me  away,  be- 
cause I  can't  stand  by,  and  see  your  own  child  disinherited 
for  that  artful  hypocrite,  his  cousin.  Poor  Master  Charles  I 
can  I  help  loving  him  ?  When  he  was  a  baby,  wasn't  he 
so  fond  of  me,  I  was  obliged  to  carry  him  about  all  day, 
and  sit  up  with  him  all  night  ?  Did  I  ever  eat  a  meal  in 
peace  for  his  dear  little  fat,  chubby  hands  pulling  at  every- 
thing ?  When  he  became  a  boy,  could  I  leave  anything  in 
his  way  that  the  little  rogue  didn't  destroy?  Wasn't  I 
the  friend  he  always  selected  to  play  his  little,  darling, 
merry  tricks  upon  ?  As  he  grew  older,  didn't  he  frighten 
me  to  death  every  minute  with  his  daring,  and  plague  me 
into  fits  with  his  impudence  ?  And  should  I  be  a  natural 
woman  if  I  didn't  love  him  dearly  for  it,  and  oppose  every 
artifice  female  ingenuity  can  invent  to  protect  the  sweet 
fellow  from  injury  ?   [Sobbing.']   Oh  !  oh  ! 

Ire.  [Aside,  softened.']  Zounds !  a  man's  heart  is  like 
a  lump  of  sugar :  woman  has  but  to  drop  a  little  warm 
water  on  it,  and  it  dissolves  in  an  instant. 

Mrs.  F.  Oh,  Mr.  Ireton !  man  finds  but  little  pleasure 
or  profit  in  sundering  those  strong  feelings  which  bind  the 
father  to  his  child. 

Ire.  Well,  well — what's  to  be  done? 

Mrs.  F.  Will  you  put  my  plan  into  practice  ? 

Ire.  I  don't  like  it. 

Mrs.  F.  We  don't  like  medicine,  yet,  for  our  good,  we 
swallow  it. 

Ire.  But  this  is  kill  or  cure  ;  yet,  as  you  seem  so  con- 
fident in  the  result,  be  it  so  ;  I'll  try  it.  [Knocking  with- 
9ut.]   See  who  knocks. 


SCENE  I.]  DUKE  YOUR  WILLS.  11 

Mrs.  F.  [Going  to  the  window,  l.  u.  e.]  As  I  live,  it's 
Mr.  Charles  himself,  and  his  little  wife ;  doubtless  coming 
to  confess  and  be  forgiven.  Now,  sir,  remember  the 
scheme. 

Ire.  Yes,  yes  ;  do  you  begone.  Stay ! — By  the  bye,  it 
is  no  part  of  our  agreement  that  I  am  not  to  reprimand 
my  hopeful  for  his  disobedience. 

Mrs.  F.  As  you  please.  So  that  you  bear  the  main 
point  in  view,  I  care  not  by  what  means  you  bring  it  about. 

[Exit,  l. 
Enter  Charles  and  Clara,  l.  d. 

Charles.   [Hesitating.']   Sir — I  come 

Ire.  Well,  I  see  you  are  come.     Who's  that  with  you  ? 

Charles.  [Much  confused.]  This  lady,  sir — has  come — 
with  me — [Kneeling  with  Clara.]  Your  blessing,  sir  1 

Ire.  What  farce  is  this  ?  A  young  booby  tugs  a  full- 
grown  wench  into  my  presence,  and,  without  preface  or 
introduction,  rhyme  or  reason,  they  thump  upon  their 
marrow-bones,  and  solicit  my  blessing  1 

Charles.  Can  you  be  ignorant,  sir,  that  I  have  the  ho- 
nour, sir,  to  cail  this  lady  by  the  endearing  name  of  wife  ? 

Ire.  I  can't  conceive  how  I  should  be  otherwise,  as  you 
never  till  this  moment  did  me  the  honour  to  communicate 
the  pleasing  intelligence. 

Charles.  Dear  father,  your  hasty  temper 

Ire.  You  doubtless  thought  would  excuse  your  hasty 
conduct.  The  lady,  I  presume,  is  heiress  to  such  a  for- 
tune as  the  son  of  old  Ireton  should  look  for  with  his 
bride  ? 

Charles,  (c.)  Exalted  in  virtue  as  in  beauty,  her  want 
of  fortune  is  the  only  objection  the  most  sordid  malice 
could  urge  against  our  union. 

Ire.  (n.  c.)  Of  course  I — Like  a  true  heroine,  she  has 
every  interesting  qualification,  from  beggary  to  ballad- 
singing.  Beauty  and  such  stuff  may  be  very  pretty  amuse- 
ment between  meals,  but  I'm  afraid  you'll  find  them  but 
poor  additions  to  the  dinner-table.  Come,  sirrah  !  as  you 
have  thought  proper  to  provide  yourself  a  wife  without 
my  assistance,  you  had  better  look  to  providing  her  with 
a  home;  in  which  matter,  I  promise  you,  I  shall  not  in 
any  way  interfere.  And  a  word  in  your  car — I  have  my 
will  to  make  I 

Clara.  Oh,  sir  !  add  not  your  displeasure  to  jrOM  poor 
ion's  afllictions  !     The   absence  of  wealth   may  be  sup- 


12  MAKE  YOUR  WILLS.  [ACT  I. 

ported,  but  what  can  compensate  the  loss  of  a  parent's 
love  ? 

Ire.  A  scolding  wife,  and  a  hungry  brat  squalling  within 
doors,  and  a  sheriff's  officer  and  the  tax-gatherer  knocking 
without.     Matrimony,  madam  ! 

Clara.  Your  reproaches  are  heavy  to  bear,  sir ;  for  they 
teach  me,  that  what  I  thought  the  greatest  proof  of  my 
affection,  will  prove  the  direst  cause  of  my  husband's  ruin. 

Charles.  Clara,  say  no  more.  My  father  will  one  day 
know  how  harshly  he  has  judged  me. 

Ire.  Quit  this  house,  sir  I 

Charles.  I  obey ;  but  you  have  intimated  that  even 
death  shall  not  quench  your  anger.  Father  I  for  your 
own  sake,  consider  how  far  your  quitting  this  world  in  a 
•pirit  of  unrelenting  resentment,  is  likely  to  plead  for  your 
forgiveness  in  the  next !     [Exeunt  Charles  and  Clara,  l.  d. 

Re-enter  Mrs.  Foreright,  l. 

Mrs.  F.  Oh,  noble  youth  1  glorious  boy  !  Did  he  not 
behave  nobly  ? 

Ire.  Very ! — He  entered  my  presence  to  inform  me  of 
his  disobedience,  and  quitted  it  with  a  noble  intimation 
that  I  had  a  fair  chance  of  going  to  the  devil ! 

Mrs.  F.  Time  will  show.  There's  his  odious  cousin, 
and  that  impudent  ape,  his  man,  down  stairs.  It  was  as 
much  as  1  could  do  to  keep  my  gentleman  below  till  I  had 
announced  him.  Mercy  on  me  '.  one  would  think,  from 
his  forwardness,  that  you  were  actually  dead,  and  the  in- 
tended heir  had  already  entered  into  possession ! 

Enter    Septimus    Plotter,    l.  d.,    running — he  pushes 
Mrs.  Foreright  aside,  and  embraces  Mr.  Ireton. 

Sep.  My  ever-honoured  uncle  !  impatience  could  brook 
no  longer  delay.  You  must  excuse  the  hasty  love  which 
spurns  at  forms,  and  thus,  unbidden,  hurries  to  pay  its 
respects  to  you. 

Mrs.  F.  Psha  !  [Exit  in  disgust,  r.  s.  e. 

Ire.  My  dear  nephew,  you  are  welcome  from  college : 
ysur  presence  is  indeed  an  alleviation. 

Sep.  An  alleviation  ! — What  can  have  happened  ? 

Ire.  Oh! 

Sep.  Alas  !  who  in  this  transitory  world  shall  be  exempt  ? 
The  jewelled  crown,  the  ermined  robe,  and  the  peasant's 
frock,  alike  enfold  a  sufferer. 

Ire.  Very  true  ;  we  ought  to  be  thankful. 


SCENE  I.]  MAKE  TOUR  WILLS.  13 

Sep.  Pain  and  trouble  are  but  the  proofs  of  virtue  ;  the 
good  are  born  to  suffer. 

Ire.  But  you  don't  know  what  I  have  had  to  endure. — 
Sit  down  ;  I  long  to  unbosom  myself  without  reserve. — 
[After  various  little  ceremonies,  expressive  of  Septimus' 
affection  for  him,  they  scat  themselves.]  Your  cruel 
cousin 

Sep.  What,  he  ! — And  you,  the  best  of  fathers 

Ire.  Has  dared  to  fall  in  love,  without  asking  my  ad- 
▼ice! 

Sep.  Impossible  !  b*  cannot  be  so  base  I 

Ire.  Nay,  more 

Sep.  What !  has  he  tampered  with  the  affections  of 
some  unfortunate  ? 

Ire.  No,  not  that :  I'm  the  only  unfortunate  whose  af- 
fection he  has  left  unrequited. 

Sep.  Can  he,  then,  have  taken  advantage  of  some  poor 
girl's  lovely  weakness,  and  glory  in  the  vile  epithet  of  se- 
ducer ? 

Ire.  No :  if  it  had  been  only  that,  I  might  have  for- 
given him,  for  we  all  have  our  weak  points  ;  but  the  villain 
is  actually  married  1 

Sep.  Married ! 

Ire.  (c.)  Married ;  and,  to  add  to  his  offence,  the  wo- 
man isn't  worth  a  farthing  ! 

Sep.  (l.  c.)  Let  me  pause  for  breath.  Oh,  my  dear 
uncle  !  I  can  feel  for  you — pity  you — weep  with  you  I — 
For  when  a  son— 

Ire.  A  being  whom  you  have  troubled  yourself  to  bring 
into  the  world  I 

Sep.  A  creature  reared  beneath  your  fostering  hand*  I 

Ire.  Educated  at  your  expense  ! 

Sep.   Nurtured  by  your  care  ! 

Ire.  Pushed  forward  by  your  interest ! 

Sep.  When  such  a  son,  I  say  again,  can  forget  the  re- 
spect— 

Ire.  The  obedience — 

Sep.  The  duty— 

Ire.  The  gratitude — 

Sep.  The  reverential  confidence  he  owes  his  parent 

Ire.  Yes,  when  that  parent  happens  to  be  his  father, — 

Sep.  When  such  a  son,  I  say  again,  can  forget  ull  this, 
by  withholding  his  confidence  in  an  affair  of  such  vital 
concern  as  marriage,  what  punishment  can  be  too  great  ? 

B 


14  MAKE  YOUR  WILLS.  [ACT  I. 

Ire.  [Jumping  up."}  What  punishment  can  be  great 
enough  ? 

Sep.   What  punishment,  indeed  ! 

Ire.  To  forgive  would  be  not  to  resent 

Sep.  I  can't  advise — my  feelings  are  too  excited. 

Ire.  If  I  were  never  to  see  him  again,  should  I  treat 
him  too  harshly  ? 

Sep.  I  dare  not  venture  a  reply.  Oh  !  the  weakness  of 
human  nature ! 

Ire.   I'll  disinherit  the  dog ! 

Sep.  [Pretending  to  plead  for  Charles.]  Yet  man  is 
vanity  ;  and  perhaps  my  cousin  was  afraid 

Ire.  Afraid  of  what  ? — Wasn't  I  always  indulgent? 

Sep.  You  were  too  good ;  but  perhaps  his  feeling 

Ire.  What  did  he  care  for  my  feeling  ? 

Sep.   Alas  !  what,  indeed  1     But  want  of  confidence 

Ire.  Want  confidence  '. — Why,  he  had  the  impudence  to 
come  here,  and  ask  me  to  forgive  him  ! — No,  no  ;  he  is  no 
son  of  mine  !  You  shall  henceforth  be  the  comfort  of  my 
age — my  heir — my  adopted  child  1  [They  embrace. 

Enter  Joseph  Brag,  l.  d 

t>rag.  Hem  !  hem  ! 

Ire.  Who  is  this  fellow  ? 

Sep.  This  is  the  servant  who  attended  me  at  college. 

Ire.  Gadso !  I'll  interrogate  him.  [Laughing.]  Ha ! 
ha!  ha! — He  will  let' me  into  your  secrets,  Septimus. — 
[To  Brag.]  Come  here,  my  master.  Why  don't  you 
move  ? 

Brag.  You  called  your  master ;  I  call  that  gentleman 
master  ;   I'm  i     !y  a  man. 

Ire.  Come  hither,  sirrah.     Now  speak  the  truth. 

[Ireton  turns  up,  and  adjusts  his  chair — Septimus 
and  Brag  converse  apart. 

Sep.  If  you  dare  ! — Lie  for  your  life  ! 

Brag.  A  man  can't  lie  upon  nothing  :  a  poor  knave's  a 
6orry  wit. 

Sep.   [Giving  his  purse.]   Here,  cormorant  1 

Brag.  Thank  ye.  Sin  always  meets  its  reward  in  this 
world,  they  say,  and  very  well  rewarded  it  is,  too  !  [Clink- 
ing the  money.]  A  little  roguery  is  the  best  trading  stock 
for  a  young  man  to  begin  life  with,  for  the  demand  never 
decreases  the  commodity. 

Sep.  Now,  rascal,  remember  your  want  of  truth  is  my 
security 


SCENE  I.]  MAKE  YOUR  WILLS.  15 

Brag.  Then  you  may  be  perfectly  satisfied  with  my  he- 
ability.  I'm  all  chaff;  there's  nothing  to  be  got  out  of 
me  even  by  thrashing. 

Ire.  [Having  seated  himself.]  Now :  does  your  muter 
make  much  progress  at  college  ? 

Brag.  No  one  gets  on  very  fast  there. 

Ire.  How  so  ? 

Brag.  Because  they're  all  promoted  by  degrees. 

Ire.  Come,  sir,  you'll  not  indulge  your  humour  in  my 
presence,  sir ;  wit  may  be  impertinent. 

Brag.  I  thought  there  was  something  the  matter  with 
it ;  it's  gone  so  plaguily  out  of  fashion  lately. 

Ire.  Tell  me,  what  kind  of  a  character  does  your  master 
bear? 

Brag.  There  isn't  a  gentleman  oftener  spoken  of,  or  bet- 
ter known  than  my  master,  in  Brazen  College. 

Sep.  Brazen  Nose  College,  uncle.  [Apart  to  Brag.]  Ba 
careful,  villain ! 

Ire.  What !  my  nephew  studies  to  get  on,  then  ? 

Brag.  I  believe  you!  And  if  he  doesn't  stop,  he'll  be 
a  perfect  master  of  arts  in  a  very  short  time. 

Ire.  {Joyously.]  Indeed  ! — Everything  confirms  my  re- 
solution. Here,  fellow,  run  to  Mr.  Process,  my  attorney, 
and  tell  him  I  want  to  make  my  will. 

Brag.   [Archly  to  Septimus.]    Please,  sir,  may  I  go? 

Sep.    [Apart  to  Brag.]    Certainly — go  to  the  devil  I 

Brag.  [Going.]  Probably  I  shall  meet  him  at  the  at- 
torney's. [Exit,  l. 

Sep.  Dearest  uncle,  let  me  beg  of  you  to  pause ;  my 
cousin  may  mend. 

Ire.  I  hate  patchwork :  a  mended  character  is  like 
joined  china — ready  to  fall  to  pieces  again  on  the  slightest 
trial  of  its  strength.  I'm  impatient  till  the  attorney  ar- 
rives. 

Re-enter  Mrs.  Forerigiit,  r.  s.  e. 

Mrs.  F.   I  beg  pardon,  sir,  but Bless  me  !   may  I  go 

to  heaven  this  moment  if  I  ever  6aw  such  a  total  change  I 
My  poor  master  ! 

Ire.   What's  the  matter  ? 

Mrs.  F.  Don't  you  feel  it,  then  ?  You  seem  all  over 
like 

Ire.  Do  I  ? 

Mr».  F.  You  look  as  no  one  ought  to  look  on  this  sido 
B  2 


16  MAKE  YOUR  WILLS.  [ACT  I. 

the  grave ;  just  as  you  were  last  time  the  aperplexy  took 
you  short. 

Sep.  Apoplexy !  [Aside.'}  "Why  don't  that  rascal  make 
haste  with  the  attorney  ! 

Mrs.  F.  My  poor  dear  master ! — The  doctor  said  the 
next  attack  would  prove  fatal. 

Ire.  So  he  did  ;  and  I  shall  be  able  to  see  if  he  spoke 
truth  :  if  he  deceives  me,  I'll  never  employ  him  again  ; 
but  if  he  is  correct  ' 

Mrs.  F.  You'll  never  live  to  reward  him,  for  then  you 
die! 

Sep.  Die  !  [Aside.]  Not  before  he  has  made  his  will,  I 
hope!  [Aloud.]  Uncle,  pray  don't  agitate  yourself ;  I'll 
run  for  the  doctor. 

Mrs.  F.  No,  no.  Help  me  to  get  Mr.  Ireton  to  the 
sofa  in  the  next  room. 

Ire.  I  wish  Mr.  Process  had  arrived. 

Sep.  [Pretending  to  weep.]  Tears  of  regret  will  force 
themselves.  This  is  the  most  painfully  anxious  moment 
of  my  life.    [Aside.]   Where's  that  cheating  lawyer  ? 

Mrs.  F.  Good  young  man  !  don't  cry  ;  your  uncle  may 
yet  be  spared. 

Sep.  [Aside.]  He  might  be  spared  well  enough  if  he 
had  but  made  his  will !  [Assisting  Mr.  Ireton,  who  moves 
with  difficulty.]   Lean  on  me,  sir. 

Ire.  Oh  !   my  time  is  come — I  must  prepare  1 

Mrs.  F.  Don't  give  way — let  me  support  you. 

Sep.  Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  uncle — gently  !  so,  so  !  Ohl 
if  you  leave  me  now,  I  shall  never  survive  the  loss  !— 
[Aside.]  Hang  that  lawyer  !  [Aloud.]  Not  so  fast  ! — 
[Aside.]  Why  don't  he  make  haste  1  [Aloud.]  When  you 
are  gone,  what  shall  I  have  to  console  me  ?  [Aside.]  The 
will  will  never  be  made,  and  I'm  ruined !  [Groaning.] 
Oh!  oh! 

[Exeunt  Septimus  and  Mrs.  Foreright,   helping  Mr. 
Ireton  off,  r. — Septimus  returns,  greatly  agitated. 

Sep.  Oh,  Fortune !  Fortune !  for  once  remove  the 
bandage  from  thy  eyes,  and  look  with  pity  on  a  votary 
who  worships  thee  as  I  do  !  My  very  existence  hangs 
upon  the  old  man's  will !  Where  is  my  scoundrel  ? — 
Spare  my  uncle's  breath  till  I  am  made  his  heir,  then  cut 
short  his  dangerous  thread  of  life  !  Oh,  for  an  attorney  ! 
[Joyfully.]  There's  a  foot  upon  the  stairs  !  [Despond- 
ingly.]  It  is  only  one  foot,  and  I  cannot  hear  a  second ! — 
It  is  that  villain,  Brag,  and,  by  all  that's  ill,  he  comet 
alone! 


SCENE  I.]  MAKE  YOUR  WILLS.  17 

Re-enter  Brag,  l. 

Now,  speak  :  could  you  find  the  house  ?  Did  you  find 
out  the  attorney  ? 

Brag.  Yes,  sir,  I  found  him  out,  but  left  word  he  was 
to  come  here  the  moment  he  came  in. 

Sep.  How  long  will  it  be  before  Mr.  Process  is  here  ? 

Brag.  Can't  say,  sir  ;  but  the  law  is  famous  for  a  slow 
process. 

Mrs.  Foreright.   [Lamenting  without.]    Oh  1  oh  t 

Sep.  What  cry  is  that  ? 

Brag.  Some  old  woman  blubbering. 

Re-enter  Mrs.  Foreright,  r.  s.  e. 

Mrs.  F.   [Wringing  her  hands  and  crying.']   Oh  I  oh  ! 

Sep.  What's  the  matter? 

Brag.  Who's  been  hurting  you  ? 

Mrs.  F.  My  poor — dear — master 

Sep.  What? 

Mrs.  F.  Is  dead  : 

Sep.  Dead  ! — Then  the  die  is  cast ! 

Brag.  Nonsense  !  He  sent  me  for  a  lawyer  ;  and  you 
don't  mean  to  say  I've  been  all  that  way  for  nothing  ? 

Mrs.  F.  When  I  got  the  old  gentleman  up  stairs,  he 
suddenly  turned  all  over  white  ;  and  before  I  could  cry 
out  for  help,  he  fell  down  dead  in  a  moment,  and  I  stood 
alone  with  a  dead  man. 

Brag.  Well,  nobody  couldn't  make  any  scandal  of  that. 

Sep.  [Who  has  been  in  deep  thought,  now  advances  to 
the  servants.]  How  unlucky — how  particularly  unlucky  ! 
I  am  now  without  the  power,  my  dear  friends,  of  express- 
ing, otherwise  than  in  words,  the  respect — the  esteem 
your  inestimable  virtues  have  inspired  me  with. 

Mrs.  F.    [Courtesy ing.)   Thank  ye,  sir. 

Brag.  I'm  sure  you  can't  feel  more  sorry  for  that  than 
I  do,  sir  ;  it  is  particularly  vexing. 

Sep.  Had  my  dear  uncle's  last  wish  been  fulfilled  ! — 
On  my  own  account   I  am  perfectly  indifferent  ;    «  crust 

and  a  cottage,  sweetened  by  content Hut  I  had  hoped 

to  settle  a  comfortable  farm  and  an  enviable  independence 
on  you,  my  faithful  and  respected  friends  '. 

[Taking  their  hands. 

Mrs.  F.  What  !  a  farm  and  independence  I 

Brag.  No  ! — What  1  live  in  the  country,  and  kill  one'e 
own  mutton  I 

1.3 


18  MAKE  YOUR  WILLS.  [ACT  I. 

Sep.  For  your  sakes  I  would  brave  anything.     Would 

we  could  contrive  some  scheme  by  which  my  dear  uncle's 

latest  wish  could  be  effected,  notwithstanding  his  decease  1 

Mrs.  F.   For  a  farm    and   independence,   I'd  agree   to 

anything. 

Brag.  It  certainly  seems  very  desirable. 

Sep.  I  have  it,  then.  When  the  lawyer  arrives,  you, 
Brag,  shall  personate  the  old  gentleman,  and,  under  that 
disguise,  give  directions  for  the  will. 

Brag.  Stop  a  moment.  This  looks  like  forgery,  and 
I've  no  ambition  to  die  for  the  public  good. 

Sep.  Pho  !   it's  but  transportation  at  worst. 

Brag.  If  that's  all,  since  emigration  has  become  fash- 
ionable, I  don't  so  much  mind. 

Mrs.  F.  But,  gentlemen,  there  is  one  point  not  so  ea- 
sily surmounted :  Mr.  Process  is  intimately  acquainted 
with  my  master's  person. 

Sep.  That  looks  like  a  difficulty,  but  "  Aut  Cjesar  aut 
nullus."  We  must  contrive  to  prevent  the  attorney's  ap- 
proaching the  supposed  Mr.  Ireton,  and,  by  our  cries  and 
feigned  distress,  so  heighten  the  scene,  as  to  blind  the  old 
fellow  to  the  deception.  [Knocking  without.']  See  who's 
there. 

Mrs.  F.  [Going  to  the  window,  l.  v.  e.]  Mr.  Process, 
as  I  live  ! 

Sep.  Hasten  and  bring  one  of  my  uncle's  gowns  and 
caps.  [Exit  Mrs.  Foreright,  hastily,  r.  s.  e.]  Now  mind, 
Brag,  you  are  to  support  the  character  of  a  gentleman. 

Brag.  Oh,  sir,  that's  impossible  ;  I  can't  do  such  a 
thing  upon  this  beggarly  amount  of  ready  cash.  Fill  my 
pockets,  and  one  may  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  part. 

Sep.  You  have  my  purse  ;  I  have  no  more  money 
about  me. 

Brag.  A  check  will  do — I'm  not  particular.  You've 
often  said  I  wanted  a  check  ;    I'm  sure  I  do  now. 

Sep.   My  dear  friend ■ 

Brag.  Friend! — Oh,  yes!  I'm  your  friend,  because 
I'm  going  to  prove  myself  a  rascal ! 

Re-enter  Mrs.  Foreright,  hastily,  r.  s.  e.,  with  a 

scarlet  goicn  and  night-cap. 
Mrs.  F.   [To  Septbmis.]    Here   is  the  gown  and  cap  ; 
do  you,  sir,  act  as  valet  while  I  show  Mr.  Process  up. 

[Exit,  L.  D. 
Sep.  Now,  my  dear  fellow,  pray  be  careful ;  remember, 
the  slightest  indiscretion  might  betray  me. 


8CENE  I.]  MAKE  YOUR  WILLS.  19 

Brag.  [Putting  on  the  gown  and  cap."]  Oh!  I'll  be 
awake ! 

Sep.  You  have  above  one  hundred  thousand  pounds  to 
bestow.  My  cousin  Charles  (your  son)  you  must  pretend 
to  be  very  indignant  with,  and  leave  nothing  to.  Mrs. 
Foreright  you  may  give  fifty  pounds  or  so,  but  no  more, 
for  fear  of  exciting  suspicion  ; — the  lawyer  you  may  pre- 
sent with  a  mourning  ring  and  a  small  legacy,  just  to  keep 
the  old  rogue  quiet ;  but  all  the  rest  you  will  leave  to  me, 
for  whom  you  must  profess  the  highest  esteem. 

Brag.  Come,  you  seem  to  forget  there's  such  a  person 
as  Mr.  Joseph  Brag.  Must  I  leave  that  worthy  little  chap 
nothing  ? 

Sep.  Leave  that  to  me — I'll  take  care  of  him  ;  to  be 
sure,  you  might  give  him  a  trifle  on  account  of  his  devoted 
service  to  your  beloved  nephew.  Be  quick  ;  muffle  your- 
self up,  and  don't  speak  more  than  you  can  help.  Here 
they  are  ! 

Re-enter  Mas.  Foreright,  l.  d.,  followed  by  Mr.  Pro- 
cess and  his  Ci.erk,  with  papers,  8fc. — they  tread 
very  softly. 

Sep.  Hush! 

Pro.  [To  Septimus,  in  a  whisper.]  How  is  Mr. 
Ireton  ? 

Sep.   Oh  !   very — very  ill  ! 

Pro.  [Peeping  at  Brag,  who  turns  away."]  Alas,  poor 
gentleman,  he  seems  to  have  fallen  away  very  much  ;  I 
declare  lie  does  not  look  like  the  same  man,  illness  has  so 
altered  him.  I  should  hardly  have  known  him.  May  I 
speak  a  word  of  consolation  ? 

Mrs.  F.  By  no  manner  of  means  ;  your  going  near  him 
might  be  attended  with  the  most  frightful  consequences. 

Sep.  Be  seated.  [Very  tenderly.]  Uncle — dear  uncle  I 
the  lawyer's  come. 

Brag.    [Sitting  in  the  arm-chair,  r.j   Oh  ! 

Mrs.  F.  Poor  sufferer  1 

Pro.  It's  really  quite  affecting  !  [He  and  the  Clerk  seat 
themselves  at  the  table,  near  l.  u.  e.]  Now,  sir,  if  you 
please  to  dictate.  First,  you  will  and  bequeath  to  Charles 
Ireton,  your  son 

Sep.    [Prompting  Brag.]    Cut  him  off  with  a  shilling  I 

Brag.  He  sha'n't  have  nothing  ;  you  may  chalk  nix  to 
his  score ! 

Pro,   [Astonished.]   Nix  to  his  score  I 


20  MAKE  YOUR  WILLS.  [ACT  I. 

Sep.  [Apart  to  Brag,  alarmed.]  You'll  ruin  all !  Re- 
member, you're  a  gentleman ;  think  of  your  character. 

Brag.  \_Aj)art.~\  Pho  1  where's  the  use  of  thinking  of 
my  character,  when  I'm  committing  forgery? 

Pro.  Now,  sir,  if  you  please.  On  whom  do  you  wish 
to  bestow  any  mark  of  your  esteem  ? 

Sep.  [Apart  to  Brag.]  To  Mrs.  Foreright,  your  house- 
keeper. 

Brag.  To  my  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Foreright. 
Mrs.  F.  Oh  I  my  poor,  dear  master  I 
Brag.  The  squash  farm  in  Barksher,  and  two  thousand 
pounds  in  cash. 

Sep.  [Apart,  pinching  Brag  very  spitefully.']  Stop  ! — 
What  are  you  about  ?  One  hundred  pounds  would  have 
been  too  much. 

Brag.    [Jumping  up  in  pain.]   Oh,  dear  ! 

Mrs.  F.  [Embracing  him,  and  forcing  him  into  his 
seat  again.]   My  poor,  dear  master  ! 

Pro.  Take  your  leisure,  sir.  When  you  are  sufficiently 
recovered 

Brag.  To  my  nephew,  Mr.  Septimus  Plotter,  I  give — 

Sep.  [Apart  to  Brag.]  Don't  be  afraid — be  very  ge- 
nerous. [Aloud.]  Poor,  kind  uncle  1  you  really  over- 
power me ! 

Brag.  I  give  two  hundred  a  year.  [Aside.]  And  that's 
more  than  he  desarves. 

Sep.  Uncle,  there's  sixty  thousand  pounds  funded  pro- 
perty. 

Brag.  My  dear  nephew,  hold  your  tongue.  Two  hun- 
dred pounds — that  will  do  ! 

Sep.   [Apart  to  him.]   And  all  the  lauded  estate,  villain  I 

Brag.  Two  hundred  a  year  ! 

Sep.  [Apart.]  Where's  the  park  in  Derbyshire  ?  the 
fens  in  Lincolnshire  ?  the  Cornwall  mines  ?  [Striking  him 
violently.]    Oh  !  you  precious  scoundrel ! 

Brag.    [Starting  up  in  agony.]    Oh  !  my 

Mrs.  F.   [Forcing  him  down.]    Poor,  dear  master 

Pro.  Really,  his  sufferings  are  horrible.  Well,  Mr. 
Ireton,  what  are  we  to  do  with  the  rest  of  the  property  ? 

Brag.  All  that's  over 

Sep.  It's  over  and  above  one  hundred  thousand  yet. 

Brag.  All  that's  over,  on  account  of  his  devoted  service 
to  my  beloved  nephew,  his  amiable  character,  and  excel- 
lent disposition,  I  give  to  that  worthy  and  good  little 
young  man,  Mr.  Joseph  Brag. 


SCENE  I.]  MAKE  YOUR  WILLS.  21 

Stp.  [Aside.]  I  shall  go  mad  !  [To  Brag.]  My  dearest 
uncle,  that  fellow  is  not  deserving  of  a  farthing  ;  he  is  the 
greatest  knave  in  existence  ! 

Brag.  Be  quiet,  or  I'll  take  away  the  two  hundred  a 
year.  He  is  the  person  I  love  best  in  the  world ;  and  I 
should  be  a  fool  not  to  take  care  of  him. 

Pro.  This  is  very  strange  !  [To  Brag.]  I'm  afraid  this 
will  may  be  set  aside.  Any  other  gift,  sir  ?  [Very  insinua- 
tingly.] Is  there  no  long-tried  friend,  or  faithful  acquain- 
tance, to  whom  you  might  wish  to  bequeath  a  trifling  token 
of  your  esteem  ? 

Brag.  Oh,  yes :  you  may  put  yourself  down  for  five 
thousand  pounds. 

Sep.  [Apart  to  Process.]  This  will  can  never  stand : 
may  it  not  be  contested  ? 

Pro.  I  don't  know  ;  it  is  legally  made,  and  a  man  has 
a  right  to  dispose  of  his  property  as  he  thinks  fit.  [Aside.] 
Five  thousand  pounds  !  [To  Septimus.]  I  see  no  reason 
to  dispute  it. 

Sep.    [Aside.]   Duped  !  caught  in  my  own  snare  ! 

Pro.  [To  Brag.]  Will  you  please  to  sign  your  name, 
sir  ? 

Brag.  [Aside.]  The  devil ! — I  can't  write.  [Groaning.] 
Oh  !  oh  1  the  gout  in  my  fingers  ! 

Mrs.  F.  Mr.  Ireton  hasn't  been  aHe  to  hold  a  pen  these 
six  weeks. 

Brag.   [Groaning.]   Oh  !  oh  ! 

Pro.  Then  he  must  make  his  mark,  and  signify  in  the 
presence  of  witnesses  that  he  intends  it  to  answer  the  pur- 
pose of  his  signature.  [Going.]  I'll  call  in  some  of  the 
servants  as  witnesses — any  one  will  do. 

Mrs.  F.  [Apart  to  Septimus.]  If  they  see  him,  they'll 
discover  all  I 

Sep.  [Pulling  Process  back.]  No,  no,  no !  Pray  do 
not  trouble  yourself ;  here  are  witnesses  present ;  your 
clerk  will  answer  all  that  the  law  requires. 

[The  will  is  signed. 

Pro.  [Taking  up  the  will.]  The  necessary  forms  may 
be  completed  elsewhere.  Mr.  Ireton — my  valued  friend  ! 
good  bye !  The  proof  which  you  have  just  given  me  of 
your  esteem  overpowers  my  speech  ;  but  if  I  never  see  you 
again,  I  shall  never  forget  the  five  thousand  pounds ! — » 
Good  bye !  good  bye ! 

[Exeunt  Process  and  the  Clerk,  preceded  by  Mr$, 
Foreright,  l.  d. 


33  MAKE  YOUR  WILLS.  ACT  I. 

Sep.  Oh,  you  precious  villain  1 
Brag.  Come,  none  of— — — 

he-enter  Process,  hastily,  l.  d. — Septimus  and  Brag  in- 
stantaneously resume  their  former  characters  of  uncle 
and  nephew. 

Pro.  [Going  to  the  table.-]  I  had  forgotten  my  specta- 
cles.    Good  bye  !  good  bye  !  [Exit,  v.  d. 

Brag.  There  !  you  see  we  were  within  an  inch  of  being 
catched. 

Sep.  I  almost  wish  the  discovery  were  made  1 

Brag.  [Throwing  off  the  gown  and  cap.]  There,  that 
job's  jobbed  I 

Sep.  [Despondingly .]  Yes,  it  is  accomplished.  [Aside."] 
Shall  I  strangle  the  rascal  ? 

Brag.  It  certainly  was  very  accomplished  ;  it's  the  best 
half  hour's  work  I  ever  did  in  my  life  ! 

Sep.  What  name  shall  I  iise  to  fit  your  villany  ?  You 
have  cheated  us  all. 

Brag.  I  can't  see  that :  you  said  I  was  to  act  like  a 
gentleman,  and  it  isn't  manners  to  forget  oneself. 

Sep.  I'll  remember  you, — rascal  1 

Brag.  Rascal,  indeed  ! — Here's  gratitude  ! 

Sep.  Gratitude  !  [Crosses  to  r. 

Brag.  Of  course.  Haven't  I  just  given  you  two  hun- 
dred a  year  ? 

S°n    You  given  me  ? 

Brag.  And,  moreover,  run  the  risk  of  being  hanged  to 
oblige  you  ?     But  some  people  can  never  feel  a  favour. 

Sep.  The  gallows,  I  doubt  not,  will  soon  free  me  from 
the  obligation. 

Brag.  That's  a  convenience  that  accommodates  more 
than  one  at  a  time.     You'd  better  not  talk  too  loud. 

Sep.  [Desperately.]  I'll  no  longer  endure  this  inso- 
lence !  [Advancing.]  The  laws  which  I  have  violated  shall 
avenge  me ! 

Brag.  Are  you  going  to  'peach  ? 

Sep.  [Overcoming  his  pride.]  No,  no:  our  mutual 
safety  renders  it  imperative  that  we  should  not  indulge 
any  recrimination.  It  is  too  late  for  that  to  be  productive 
of  aught  but  ill.  Let  us,  therefore,  dismiss  all  angry 
feelings,  and  talk  calmly.  I  suppose  you  have  not  many 
relatives  living  ; — brothers  or  sisters  ? 

Brag.  Yes,  but  I  have,  though ;  the  Brags  are  a  great 
family. 


SCENE  II.]  MAKE  TOUR  WILLS.  23 

Sep.  Where  are  they  ? 

Brag.  {Significantly.']  Why,  like  most  great  families, 
they're  provided  for — in  places  under  government. 

Sep.  I  understand  you :  they're  imprisoned  or  trans- 
ported. 

Brag.  They're  taken  care  of;  there's  not  much  chance 
of  their  troubling  me. 

Sep.  Then  as  you  have  none  but  yourself  to  maintain, 
do  you  not  think  that  the  half  of  one  hundred  thousand 
pounds  might  be  sufficient  for  your  wants,  and  equal  to 
your  extravagance  ? 

Brag.  Stay  :  will  the  half  let  me  ride  in  a  cab  whenever 
I  like  ;  drink  lots  of  early  purl ;  have  an  odd  brown  to 
treat  a  friend  ;  and  get  tea  at  Grinnich  on  a  Sunday,  like 
other  gentlemen  ? 

Sep.  I  assure  you,  on  my  honour,  on  half  that  sum  you 
may  do  as  you  please. 

Brag.  That's  all  1  want ;  as  for  the  rest 

Sep.  I  hope  my  claims  will  not  pass  unnoticed. 

Brag.  If  it  will  stop  your  mouth,  you  may  have  it. 

Sep.  My  friend,  your  hand  ! 

Brag.   [Shaking  hands]  That's  your  sort ! 

Sep.  One  common  interest  unites  us. 

Brag.  Ours  is  an  interesting  union — very  1 

Sep.  Come,  we  must  go  and  pay  the  old  gentleman  • 
visit. 

Brag.  What,  the  dead  man  as  I  did  duty  for  ? 

Sep.  Yes. 

Brag.  Thank  you — I'd  rather  not  visit  him. 

Sep.  Why? 

Brag.  He  was  a  gentleman,  and  might,  perhaps,  return 
the  call. 

Sep.  You  must  not  indulge  these  idle  fears :  he  has 
paid  the  debt  of  nature. 

Brag.  Aye,  downed  with  his  dust,  like  a  trump  I 

Sep.   Come,  cheer  up  ! 

Brag.  Well,  who's  afraid? 

Sep.  Your  hand  I 

Brag.  There! 

Sep.  Bravo  !  [Exeunt,  n. 

SCENE  II. — Another  Chamber  in  Mr.  Ireton's  House, 
darkened  a  little — a  sofa  bed  in  a  recess,  r.  f. — chain 
and  table,  with  a  bottle  of  brandy  on  it,  near  l.  o.  e. 


24  MAKE  YOUR  WILLS.  [ACT  I. 

Mr.  Ireton  and  Mrs.  Foreright  discovered. 

Ire.  Impossible ! 

Mrs.  F.  Nay,  it's  true,  or  I'm  a  false  woman  ! 

Ire.  How  could  old  Process  be  so  imposed  upon  ? 

Mrs.  F.  I  can't  say,  sir,  unless  the  five  thousand 
pounds  which  Brag  left  him  blinded  his  perception. 

Ire.  Five  thousand  pounds! — With  what  conscience 
could  the  attorney  accept  so  preposterous  a  gift  ? 

Mrs.  F.  La !  sir,  have  you  lived  to  these  years,  and 
wonder  at  a  lawyer's  conscience  ?  I'll  warrant  it  is  capa- 
cious enough  to  receive  your  whole  fortune,  without  any 
material  inconvenience  to  its  possessor. 

Ire.  The  voracious  rascal  1 — Five  thousand  pounds  ! — 
All  that  that  fellow  has  ever  done  for  me  was  to  persuade 
me  into  three  law  suits,  in  every  one  of  which  I  was  non- 
suited with  damages,  and  costs  on  both  sides. 

Mrs.  F.  I  hear  a  door  open.  It  is  too  early  to  discover 
yourself  yet :  you  must  consent  to  sham  dead  for  a  short 
time,  and  we  shall  see  how  the  monsters  conduct  them- 
selves. 

Ire.  Sham  dead ! — I  fear  that's  impossible  ;  for  every 
nerve  in  my  body  quivers  with  indignation.  I  am  too 
much  alive  to  the  insult  they  have  offered  me. 

Mrs.  F.  Nay,  you  must  consent,  or  it  will  spoil  all. 

Ire.  Give  me  a  glass  of  brandy  to  compose  my  nerves, 
or  rather  let  me  swallow  the  contents  of  the  bottle  ;  for 
dead  drunk  I  may  become,  but  as  for  remaining  in  any 
other  condition  ten  consecutive-  minutes — Lord  help  me  ! 

Mrs.F.  [Softly.}  Down,  sir,  down  ;  for  they  are  here. 
[She  forces  Mr.  Ireton  upon  the  sofa,  and  leans  over 
hi?n,  pretending  excessive  grief. 

Enter  Septimus  Plotter,  r.,  pulling  Brag  after  him. 

Sep.  Come,  Brag,  don't  hang  so. 

Brag.  Lord,  sir  !  don't  look  so  pleasant ;  you  forget  the 
departed's  present,  poor  old  defunct! 

Sep.  Psha  !  it's  only  respectful  to  visit  one  who  has 
been  so  good  to  us. 

Brag.  It  would  be  more  respectful  to  wait  till  he 
asked  us. 

Enter  Charles,  l. 

Mrs.  F.  Oh,  Mr.  Charles  !  your  poor  father 

Sep.   [Apart  to  Brag.]  Brag,  we  must  prepare  for  woe. 


SCENB  II.]  MAKE  YOUR  WILLS.  25 

Mind  and  be  pathetic.  [To  Charles.}  Cousin,  this  is  a 
melancholy  sight ! 

Charles.  My  poor  father !  the  last  words  he  spoke  to 
me  were  spoken  in  anger. 

Sep.  Don't  despond,  cousin.  If  the  poor  old  gentle- 
man has  been  unjust  towards  you,  my  affection  will  ever 
shield  your  welfare. 

Charles.  [Shaking  him  by  the  hand.]  I  thank  you. — 
But  what  can  supply  a  father's  blessing,  now  doubly  dear, 
since  he  is  no  more  ? 

Brag.  [Endeavouring  to  cry."]  Human  nature  is  human 
nature,  Master  Charles  ;  and,  putting  the  old  chap's  bles- 
sing on  one  side,  [Pulling  out  Septimus's  jmrse.]  if  a 
trifle  is  of  any  use,  I'll  stand  by  you  till  the  last. 

Charles.  [Avoiding  him,  and  turning  to  Septimus.'] 
Who  is  this  fellow,  Septimus  ? 

Brag.  Fellow  ! — I  was  a  particular  intimate  of  your 
papa's.  Just  before  he  popped  oft',  I  had  the  honour  of 
smoothing  the  flannel  round  his  great  toe  for  the  last  time. 
"  Brag,"  says  he,  with  a  peculiarly  dying  accent,  "  Brag, 
you've  done  a  good  thing  for  yourself;  and  when  I'm 

Sep.    [Apart,  punching  him  in  the  side.]   Hush 

Brag.  And  when  I'm 

Sep.    [Apart  to  him.]   Hush  ! 

Charles.  What  more  did  my  poor  father  add  ? 

Brag.  He  didn't  add  any  more,  for  just  then  he  was 
took  with  such  a  dig  in  the  side,  that  it  interrupted  the 
conversation. 

Mrs.  F.  My  poor,  dear  master  ! — Oh  !  oh  ! 

Charles.  Septimus,  this  fellow's  presence  insults  my 
departed  parent's  memory.     Let  me  beg  he  may  retire. 

Sep.  [Expostulating.]  He  was  a  great  friend  of  the 
deceased. 

Brag.  Yes,  I  was  a  very  great  friend  indeed  of  the  dis- 
eased ;  and  as  for  you,  Master  Charles,  you'd  better  keep 
your  mouth  shut,  or  you  may  want  something  to  put  into 
it ;  for  your  dear,  dead-and-gone  papa  said  he'd  cut  you 
off  with  a  shilling. 

Charles.  That  which  you  have  related  affects  me  in  no 
other  way,  than  as  a  proof  of  my  poor  father's  feelings  to- 
wards me  at  the  period  of  his  decease.  The  loss  of  for- 
tune I  can  easily  surmount  ;  but  that  my  parent  should 
have  quitted  this  world  without  having  pardoned  my  indis- 
cretion, is  indeed  a  heavy  affliction  !        [Rjcit,  Weeping,  L, 

Sep.  Thank  heaven  I  in  that  humour,  he  threatens  littlo 
c 


2C  MAKE  YOUR  WILLS.  [iCT  I. 

interruption  to  the  success  of  our  plan.  Mrs.  Foreright, 
it  will  be  no  more  than  proper  if  we  go  and  put  every 
thing  in  order,  send  for  the  undertaker,  and  give  notice 
of  the  funeral. 

Brag.   [Crossing  to  l.]    I'll  run  for  the  undertaker. 

Sep.  No  ;  you  must  remain  here,  and  watch  the  body. 

Brag.  Watch  the  body  ! — Where's  the  use  of  that  ? — 
There's  no  chance  of  a  dead  man's  running  away. 

Mrs.  F.  But  it  is  not  usual  to  leave  the  corpse  alone. 

Brag.  Nonsense  i — What  can  a  corpse  want  company 
for  ?     He'll  be  just  as  lively  by  himself. 

Sep.  Brag,  these  perverse  humours  will  ruin  all.  Here 
is  plenty  of  brandy ;  and  surely  a  few  moments — when 
you  know  how  much  we  have  at  stake. 

Brag.  Well,  if  this  is  being  a  man  of  property 

Sep.  Come,  Mrs.  Foreright,  we  have  no  time  to  lose. 

[Exeunt  Septimus  and  Mrs.  Foreright,  l. 

Brag.  [Calling  after  them.~\  I  say,  if  any  one  wants  to 
see  the  master  of  the  house,  I'm  not  engaged.  [Sitting  at 
the  table.]  How  quiet  it  is  !  [Evidently  alarmed.']  Some 
people  love  quiet !  [Attempting  to  sing,  but  is  unable.] 
Tol  lol  tol  de  rol !  I'd  give  something  for  a  good  blowing 
out  now !  Here's  the  bottle.  They're  so  very  correct 
about  the  dead  man,  I  wonder  they  let  him  drink.  Here's 
his  health.  [Drinking.]  Come,  there  is  some  comfort  in 
life  !  The  old  boy  was  fond  of  brandy  ;  I  wonder  if  he'd 
like  some  now  ? 

Ire.   [On  the  sofa  behind.]   Yes  ! 

Brag.  [Starting.]  Who  spoke  ? — Who  spoke,  I  say  ? 
Well,  I'd  have  sworn  it  was  a  voice  !  [Attempting  to 
laugh.]  Ha  !  ha  I  ha  ! — What  a  fool  I  must  be  ! — Ugh  1 
[Looking  timorously  around  him.]  I'm  all  alone.  I  want 
priming.  I'm  just  like  the  prince  regent's  bomb  in  the 
park — not  good  for  much  without  it ;  but  prime  me  up  to 
the  muzzle,  and  I'll  go  off  at  anything.  Brandy's  better 
than  fire ; — coals  scorch  the  toes,  but  brandy  warms  the 
heart.  The  old  boy's  heart  must  be  plaguy  cold.  — 
Wouldn't  you  like  some  of  this,  old  buck  ? 

Ire.  Yes. 

Brag.  [Rising.]  Come,  no  jokes;  you  don't  frighten 
me.     Who's  there? 

Ire.   [Rising  from  the  sofa.]   I. 

Brag.  Then  mind  your  eye,  for  I'm  up  1  A  dead  man 
can't  talk.  Oh,  la!  I  wish  somebody  would  come,  for 
I'm  getting  serious  !     [Mr.   Ireton   comes  behind  him.] 


SCENE  III.]  MAKE  YOUR  WILL9.  27 

Pho  !  who's  afraid  ?— Perhaps  the  old  man's  disturbed  for 
some  brandy.  I  say— I  I  will  you  take  this  ?  [He  holds 
out  the  glass,  which  Mr.  Ireton  takes  from  his  hand— 
Brag  sees  him,  and,  believing  it  to  be  a  ghost,  becomes 
dreadfully  alarmed.]  Ugh  1  ugh  1 — What  does  your  poor 
spirit  want  ? 

Ire.  Brandy ! 

Brag.  [Dropping  the  bottle.']  There  1  Lie  down— go 
and  lie  down,  like  a  dead  Christian  ! 

Ire.  I  want  you  to  give  me  your  hand. 

Brag.  No,  no  !    [Bawling  out.]    Help  !— Oh  !   oh  1 

[He  dodges  about  to  avoid  Ireton,  and  ultimately  darts 
by  him  with  desperate  energy,  and  exits,  l. 

SCENE  III. —  The  Drawing  Room  in  Mr.  Ireton' s  House 
— a  table  with  a  cover  near  l.  u.  e.— folding  doort\  c.  r. 

Enter  Charles,   Clara,   Septimus  Plotter,  and 
Mrs.  Foreright,  c.  d.  f. 

Charles.  It  is  too  true — my  father  is  no  more  ! 

Mrs.  F.  Come,  Charles,  you  must  not  give  way  thus  ; 
your  father's  unrelenting  resentment  might  excuse  your 
tears. 

Charles.  No,  no  :  it  is  my  sorrow  that  I  ever  gave  him 
cause. 

Brag.    [Without.]   Ugh  I  oh!  oh! 

Sep.  [Aside.]  That's  Brag's  unlucky  voice !  —  Hi» 
blundering  will  ruin  all ! 

Mrs.  F.  What  can  have  happened  ? 

Enter  Joseph  Brag,  c.  d.  p.,  rushing  forward,  pale  and 
trembling. 

Brag.    [Screaming .]    Oh  !  oh  1 

Sep.  Why  this  alarm  ? 

Brag.  1— [Pointing  of.]— 1— he  I    [Groaning.]   Oh  I 

Mrs.  F.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Brag.    [Trembling.]    I've  seen  it! — Ugh  1 

Sep.   Seen  it ! — What  has  frightened  you  ? 

Brag.  A — oh  ! — a  glass  of  brandy  '. 

Mrs.  F.  Pho  !  a  glass  of  brandy  can  never  have  pro- 
duced this  exceeding  timidity. 

Brag.  No,  no — it  wasn't  that,  but — the  ghost  I 

Sep,  Charles,  8f  Clara.  The  ghost ! 

Mrs.F.  [Laughing.]  Hal  hal  ha  1 — You  have  been 
frightened  by  your  own  shadow. 

Brag.  My  shadow  !  —  Oh,  la !  it  was  Mr.  Ireton'i 
c2 


A  A 


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